


Reversal

by Rahn (Rahndom)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/pseuds/Rahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian Al Ghul is adopted by the Wayne family, while Tim Drake accompanies him in his quest for justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reversal

**Author's Note:**

> Miss Blue’s evil plot bunnies tackled me to the ground and refused to move until I agreed to write this little piece. She asked for Damian as Batman and Tim as his companion, and then the others as their robin/children. And since I wanted to explore a little more I decided to reverse the complete order of the Wayne children and came up with this.

**Snow**

Damian huffs, eyes narrowed and swollen almost shut as he wanders the darkened streets of Gotham. The winter air biting into his damaged side and turning his blood into dark red sharpnels pulling and cutting at his skin, making each and every step an agonizing process.

It didn’t matter, however, the pain, the hunger, the way his bare feet were slowly losing color. He is free of his mother’s stone-cold eyes and his grandfather’s lawless expectations. He will decide his own fate, live his own life, de his own death without fearing The League will come to bath him in the Lazarus.

Even the thought of dying a frozen corpse in this foreign city is a glorious prospect while compared to the path laid out for him by his family.

He grins as he lets himself fall face-first into the snowy pathway of a house, letting the cold soak him into near unconsciousness.

Suddenly, there are warm fingers preventing his numbness, trailing over his hair, his cheekbones, around his left ear and finally resting over his neck, feeling his pulse.

“You are not dead,” a soft voice whispers in mild surprise. “Mrs. Mac! Call an ambulance, please!”

Damian opens one eye to stare at the teen carefully pressing an expensive looking cashmere sweater into his wounded side.

“I’m Tim,” the teen whispers. “Don’t close your eyes, please. Talk to me. What’s your name?”

“I… Damian…” he struggles to reply, hissing in half pain, half pleasure when Tim’s hands touch his forehead.

Hours later, as he lays in a hospital bed and stares into the teen’s pale blue eyes, he can’t help but compare his expectations with his new reality. He was saved by a civilian. A bright eyed boy who is smiling at him as he tells Captain Gordon how the he, poor thing, was babbling about a car accident while Tim looked after him and that it must have been the collision in 4th street and Main.

When he asks Tim why he has come up with such deceit, the other teen explains how he has heard of a car accident between a car and a truck filled to the brim with illegal immigrants.

“I guessed you didn’t want people finding out your origins while you were unconscious,” Tim explains, tracing the League’s tattoo on Damian’s foot. “An accident survivor is easily dismissed, plus it makes Black Mask’s human trade front page and therefore, no one would have the heart to force you back to your own country without facing public outrage.”

At this, the teen smiles a barely-there-smile that makes something in Damian’s frozen body warm up.

“That is brilliant,” he whispers.

“You are welcome.”

They stop their conversation the moment the hospital’s main benefactor, Mr. Thomas Wayne enters the room, informing Damian grimly that he is the only survivor of the group of immigrants and if he would like to come live with him and his wife Martha at Wayne Manor.  Mr. Wayne is a good man, Tim will explain later, a man of honor that has never been blessed with children of his own.

“Will you be close?” he asks Tim, hesitant.

He nods.

“Then, thank you, Mr. Wayne,” Damian says, his cheeks flushing lightly.

 

**Bus Stop.**

 

Tim holds Damian’s hand as Mr. and Mrs. Wayne are lowered to the ground, both dressed impeccably in black. Mr. Pennyworth, the Waynes’ butler is resting a hand on Damian’s shoulder as tears slide silently down the boy’s cheeks.

Reporters are not allowed at the funeral, but they are all waiting for them outside of the chapel, ready to snap a picture of the new Wayne millionaire.

They all heard the story.

How Mr. Wayne wanted to celebrate the second anniversary of the adoption of his new son and had  dragged the whole family to watch a movie at the theater, Damian’s favorite, only to find themselves victims to a crazed robber and gunned instantly. Headlines have been written already:

**‘CHILD SURVIVOR OF THE 4 TH AND MAIN TRAGEDY AN ORPHAN AGAIN.’**

**‘THE IRANI CURSE STRIKES WAYNE AND HIS WIFE, CHILD SURVIVOR INHERITS FORTUNE.’**

**‘THE BOY SURVIVOR’**

Damian wants to kill them all, just like he wants to follow the man that stole his new-found family from him and rip his head from his shoulders with his bare hands, he wants him to go to hell while he begs for mercy that will never come, for a second chance he doesn’t deserve.

Tim tugs his hand gently, guides him to the other side of the chapel to sit in an abandoned bus stop.

“Talk to me,” he begs, his hands wiping Damian’s tears. “Please.”

“I’m going to kill that man,” Damian whispers, his hands clenching until his knuckles turn white and there is a faint trail of blood spilling from his palms. Tim wraps his arms around him and forces his head to rest on his slender shoulder, shaking.

“Don’t, please don’t.”

“He killed them, he took them from me.”

Never again will he hear Martha,  ** _mother_** , singing as she arranges the flowers in the dining table. Her musical laughter as she mock-hits Thomas,  ** _father_** , for his smart mouth. He won’t feel her hands caressing his forehead as they lay him down to sleep, her soft kisses on his cheeks before Alfred drives him to school.

‘ _Be good, darling,’_  he believes he can still hear her.

_‘We’re proud of you, son,’_  Thomas’ voice joins hers inside his head.

“You won’t be better than him,” Tim argues, his pale pink lips twisting as tears start falling from his eyes. “You won’t be better than your grandfather.”

“But he deserves it!” Damian protests, struggling with Tim’s embrace. If he wanted to, he would easily release himself from the other teen, the other boy who has shared this wonderful second chance with him. But to do so would harm him, he could break Tim’s arm if he is not careful, therefore he doesn’t move as much as he could. He pretends to fight something he cannot.

“But you don’t deserve to darken your soul anymore,” Tim whispers, sobs, cries, there is a roar echoing in Damian’s ears that make Tim’s voice harder to hear. “Thomas and Martha would be sad to see you take that road.”

The roaring stops, the struggling stops.

The world itself stops.

“I want justice,” he whispers, his arms coming around Tim’s back. “I want justice.”

“Then we’ll get justice,” Tim sooths. “I swear I’ll help you until justice has been served.”

Mr. Pennyworth appears besides them, eyes dull with sorrow, and wraps them both in a tight embrace.

“Let’s go back home, Master Damian,” he says, his usually stoic voice cracking.

Damian understands Alfred has lost his family as well, and that he is the only one remaining to him as well.

“Please, Alfred,” he whispers. “Let’s.”

 

**Band**   
  


Damian parks the car in the band and ignores the he is slowly turning towards the entrance, ready for another outing in Gotham’s night. There is no reason for celebration tonight as he remembers the madman he has helped to create, the deformed man laughing like a maniac and claiming he has given him a new chance.

He shakes his head, turning when Alfred places a steaming mug of tea in his hand without uttering a word. Old, reliable Alfred, always there to make sure he doesn’t fall apart.

“Master Timothy is waiting for you in the computer room, Master Damian,” he says gently, his wrinkling hands removing the cowl from Damian’s face.

He smiles a little at his grandfather figure, nodding.

“Did you call him, Pennyworth?” he asks, sipping the tea and feeling it warm his throat.

“I did not, Master Damian,” the old man shakes his head. “He appeared out of thin air in front of the computer two hours ago.”

“It’s a cold night outside,” Damian mutters, taking off his gauntlets.

“I have already procured Master Timothy’s usual blanket and soup, of course,” the Englishman says, nodding.

“He bullied me until I drank it all, actually,” Tim chirps from the doorway, still wrapped around the woolen blanket Damian had exported from the Andes just for him.

“Excellent job, then, Pennyworth,” Damian smiles lightly, nodding when Alfred pats his shoulder before bowing.

“Always a pleasure.”

“Bullies, the two of you,” Tim sighs, wrapping his blanketed arms around Damian’s waist.

Damian responds in kind, wrapping his larger arms around Tim’s shoulders.

“I’m here,” Tim whispers.

“I know,” Damian replies, letting the weariness of the night, the cackling laughter of his new rouge, the stench of chemicals, fall away from his shoulders as he sinks his nose on Tim’s neck. “Stay tonight?”

Tim kisses his hair.

“Always.”

 

**Railway**.

 

Batman finds Tim sitting on one of Gotham’s many abandoned train stations, his globed hands tight around his arms and his hair wet by the rain.

“Did you catch him?” he asks, as he wraps his arm and his cape around Tim’s trembling back.

Tim shakes his head.

“Boomerang will be back for sure,” Damian whispers, pulling the smaller man into his arms. “Your father will be avenged, Timothy. I swear this to you.”

“I want to be the one to do it, Batman,” Tim whispers hoarsely, his teeth clenched so tight they turn Tim’s lips an even paler shade of pink. “I want to be the one to put him down like the dog he is. That he knows for certain it was me who sent him to jail to rot.”

“As a civilian?”

“As an avenger,” Tim whispers. “I need to go, I need to train.”

“I can train you,” Damian offers but Tim shakes his head. “Timothy.”

“Damian,” Tim says, and his ale eyes are devoid of any emotion. “You have a duty here, I would only hinder you.”

“You said you would always stay with me.”

“And that promise alone will make me come back, always.”

Damian has no heart to stop Tim as he starts walking under the rain over the rusty railroads. He doesn’t call out to him or say another word. Tim will come back, he swore.

But loneliness is something Batman, for all his pose and growls, cannot bear.

When two years later the dark figure of Nemesis makes its name known among the Gotham scum, Damian can’t help but smile and watch as the slender man lands in front of him, all black and red and glorious in his form.

“Took you a long time to come back,” he says, arms crossed.

“I had a terrible teacher that didn’t want to let me go,” Nemesis replies, his own smile sardonic as he shakes his head, black hair dancing against the wind.

“Welcome home.”

The two of them walk back towards the car in comfortable silence, their fingers brushing against eachother in a ridiculous attempt to resist the urge to hold hands as they did during their youth. Damian will hold himself back, though, because his Tim is back, his anchor to the world is back and nothing will spoil the reunion he is mentally planning between the sheets of his bed, back in the Manor. He knows Alfred won’t mind the mess when he sees his small Master Timothy wrapped in his blanket once more.

His plans, however, do become ruined when they find a ten year old trying to steal the tires of the batmobile with dexterous little hands and intelligent green eyes.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” the boy cries, frightened as he recognizes both masked vigilantes.

Damian wants to growl but Tim is smiling, mirth shaking his shoulders.

“Of course you weren’t,” Nemesis says softly, offering his hand to the child.

Damian knows he will regret this, but he has missed Tim’s almost silent laughter as much as he has missed the rest of him. 


	2. Death in the Family

Damian is running as fast as he can, his lungs burning, his heart hammering in his chest and begging for reprieve he will not grant as the maddened laughter of his archenemy echoes in the desert.

Dick, he needs to find Dick, he needs to find him before it’s too late, before…

*

Dick had always been their special little bird, their Robin. Hell even Jason tended to dote on the enthusiastic teen despite his mostly sour disposition towards Damian himself.

Tim would often allow their circus monkey to climb into his lap in an elaborate game of make pretend to demand ‘mommy cuddles’ out of the silent vigilante and fatherly pats on the head from Damian himself when he felt he had done well.

Because, yes, Dick’s obsession with family had been something none of the damaged members of the Wayne household had ever felt themselves and often tended to indulge in awkwardly, pretending they did know what a loving and functioning family was supposed to act like for the child’s sake.

Which was why they had flown over to the middle east when Dick had heard rumors that his uncle, his Romany raised uncle, was alive and well, convinced no other member of the flying Grayson’s was there. And his happy smile when the man had embraced him, running careful hands over dark hair.

Damian had snapped a picture for Tim and Jason as soon as he saw an opportunity, but now?

Now that he knew The Joker had captured their Robin.

The happy reunion Dick had always imagined was turning into a nightmare and for all the bravado and poise…

The child must be frightened.

He cries the boy’s tittle, screams his lungs hoarse as he approaches the lone warehouse under the desert sun.

He reaches with his hand, so close, so very close, and then an explosion is rocking him back, sending him flying towards the sand and everything is burning and the warehouse is laying in pieces and god, no, please god.

“Dick!” he cries as he crawls towards the fire, there is a scrap of metal sticking into his arm, his leg is twisted in an unnatural angle that forces him to drag his torso on the bloody sand, but he can’t stop, not for the world when his little bird, his Richard is laying so still in the sand, his face a mask of bloody tranquility he had never achieved in life.

“Richard,” Damian whispered when his trembling hands finally made contact with the small body, slowly cradling him in his arms like the child he was. “Richard…”

The desert echoes with the clown prince’s maddened cackles and the dark knights howls of pain, mixing in a symphony of sorrow that will mark the years to come.

*

 A song that will be joined by Jason’s soft gasps and Timothy’s stoic, blameless silences, and the way petite hands will clench and tighten before he crumbles to the ground, tears sliding slowly down his cheeks.

Timothy won’t cry Dick’s death, won’t whisper words of regret and, most heartbreakingly, he won’t blame Damian for the tragedy, for wanting to take their little Robin so far away without them to help out, his eyes are just a tad more sad, a little calmer in their despair. 

Nightwing, on the other hand, is more vocal, more aggressive in his recrimination; he will stare at Dick’s brightly colored costume and snarl that Damian should have done something, that Dickiebird probably spent his last minutes waiting for him, that he and Tim should have gone as well. He will storm around the cave spitting insults and all the recriminations that already echo inside Damian’s head, he will shake Tim and demand he agrees with him before snapping in disgust when the older man does nothing before storming away.

Tim will sit by the computer, ignoring Jason, and sigh whenever the topic is been put forward. He is a silent doll, a dead figure in the dark of the cave, diligently working, patrolling, coping in a way that none of the other residents will understand.

At night, Damian will caress his naked shoulder and ask him why isn’t he angry. Tim will grasp his hand lightly, pressing his warm and calloused fingers to his cheek.

“I am angry, more than I can possibly say, but I swore on your parents’ graves that I would never kill, and that I would keep you from doing it yourself,” he whispers back, closing his eyes. “And then there is this twisted part of me that whispers that a more fitting revenge is to make that clown live on and suffer accordingly, forever.”

Damian sighs and wraps his arms tightly around Tim, trying to ignore the way the two of them are broken and how Dick’s loss has only made them worse than before.

When one morning he wakes to cold sheets, he feels the inevitable has finally happened.

Tim has left.

The single piece of paper lying innocently in his usual pillow is the only thing keeping Damian from going insane.

**‘I need to go, I’m sorry… but I’ll be back. Batman always needs a Robin and I need to find myself again. – Timothy.’**

Damian keeps the note close to him at all times, tries to ignore the way Jason will glare at him hatefully whenever their paths cross, the way he goes to sleep on a cold bed every night. The way Alfred’s fingers on the bat computer’s keyboard are silent and careful, but not perfect. The way Richard’s grave is always full of flowers in full bloom, always colorful and bright like the boy himself. The way Timothy’s private room in the Manor is getting dusty but he can’t force himself to ask Alfred to clean it, lest he loses the faint scent of his skin from the clothing, the bed sheets, the curtains… even that ridiculously dull cushion he liked to rest his back into.

Richard is dead, Jason is broken, Tim is gone.

Batman roams the night alone.

And dreams of better times when he had a family, when the night air rang with the soft laughter of a child. 

 


	3. Rise of the Red Robin

Damian is laying at his side on his bed when the summons arrive, his arm is broken in two parts and there is no way for him to fight the drugs currently running through his system but he is leisurely resting for once, because Tim is running his slender fingers over his hair, humming a soft tune as he reads report after report in their bed and Damian just wants to enjoy the sweet scent of his beloved by his side, of the normalcy that surrounds them.

That is, until Jason’s voice blares through the speakers, urgency clear in his tone.

“Nightwing,” Damian calls, his voice slipping easily into the growl that Tim calls his ‘Batman-voice’.

“B!” the young man cries, breathing ragged. “Double B is been attacked by a new dude!”

Tim opens his eyes, elbows punish his body off the bed.

Damian groans.

“Black Bat can deal with whoever might try to come to blows with her,” he snapped, ignoring the way Tim’s shoulders tense with pride. Cassandra is, after all, more of his child than Damian’s. His student and protégé, handed over by the late Lady Shiva herself for him to protect.

“Not this time, Boss!” Jason yells, and they can hear the fight going and Tim is out of the bed at the same time he is running towards the cave, both their eyes narrowed.

“So much for a night off,” Tim says, suiting up.

Damian shakes his head.

“We shall have a honey moon once the children are safe.”

 

**

He should have seen it coming, of course. He should have seen it when The Joker disappeared and Cassandra was attacked. When Jason was unable to overpower their new foe. When the villain seemed able to predict Tim’s every move.

But he hadn’t, and it was his mistake.

And now he is standing before Red Robin, eyes wide as Dick, their little Dickie Bird, is holding a gun to The Joker’s forehead, eyes narrowed and mouth curled into an ugly smirk.

“You replaced me,” he spat. “You replaced me for that little girl as if I meant nothing! And then you weren’t even capable of seeking revenge! You wouldn’t even kill the one that took me away from you two!”

“It wasn’t like that and you know it,” he tries to reason, hands resting limply at his sides. “I swore I would never walk that path.”

“Please,” Dick hisses. “You’ve killed before, you were a fucking assassin before coming to Gotham. You could have killed if I was important enough!”

“Please stop this,” Jason wheezes, holding his damaged side. His leg is broken in two parts, his forehead is split and bleeding profusely and his ribs are broken. Dick has really done a number to him.

“Shut up, you!” Dick snaps. “You were always the favorite anyways! The wonderful Nightwing! The eldest and most loved, you have no idea what it’s like!”

“The Kid does have a point, Batsy,” The Joker laughs, squirming against the tight hold Dick has of his neck. “You did replace him quite easily with that little mute of yours.”

“Shut it, clown!” Dick growls, hitting him with the back of his gun in the head. “You are just means to an end!”

The madman is laughing and Damian is trying to ignore the way Jason’s breathing is growing shallow by the second – his lung must be punctured – and how Dick’s hand is not even shaking as he tightens his fingers on the trigger. He is really going to do it, their little ray of sunshine is really going to kill The Joker to prove a point. Damian’s hand is tight against his own weapon, eyes narrowing.

His teeth sink into the inside of his cheek until he feels the metallic tang of blood against his tongue. There is a bead of sweat rolling under his cowl and down his neck, his knees feel weakened and about to collapse and he knows he can’t do it.

He can’t do it, not to Dick, never to him.

“Do it, old man!” Dick demands. “Do it or I will!”

“I won’t.”

“DO IT!”

Suddenly there is glass breaking and a Batarang is sinking into Dick’s hand, making him yell and  forcing him to release The Joker, sending the madman sprawling into the ground, his broken teeth spilling into the dirty wooden floors as he cackles.

“Mommy is here!”

Dick’s lips curl into a snarl as he points the gun at the figure landing gracefully in front of him, dark cape enveloping slender limbs, dark hair framing the older face, the stoic set of the mouth, the eyebrows.

Tim is the perfect picture of an ice statue, unfeeling, frozen, as he stares at Red Robin’s bird-like cowl hanging from the teen’s neck.

“Of course,” the young man mocks, spitting at the man’s feet. “Of course you had to come to support your lover, right? The biggest liar of them all.”

“Robin,” Ti says evenly, his voice glacial.

“You were the one that swore we were family, of course,” Dick continues. “Batman is just too emotionally stumped so you took over with the promises and the love and the lies! I should have known that you could never love me and the others, that with the sociopaths you held for parents-“

The sharp sting of flesh hitting flesh rings into the night air, Nightwing’s eyes widen behind his mask as he watches Dick’s face reel to the side out of the sheer force of Tim’s hand.

Batman closes his eyes.

Tim has slapped Dick.

Tim who never raised a hand against their children, their little wonders, has finally snapped.

“You have no right to assume,” Tim says, his voice not rising from its usual whisper. “To imply your death meant nothing to us. That the fact that we lost you didn’t break what we had, didn’t destroy us.”

“The clown is still alive!” Dick protests, his eyes wide.

“Because we swore to our dead that we would never sink to their level, not for anyone, not even for you,” Tim replies evenly. “You swore the same oath to  _your_  dead, while you were nothing but a child holding onto our hands. Batman and I would have never forgiven you if you had avenged our own deaths in such a way. We honored the promise as we have honored everything else.”

Feeling emboldened by Tim’s words, Damian walks to Dick’s other side, his hands releasing their hold of his own weapons.

“So much for family, you took a replacement,” Dick hisses, shaking his head.

“We took a child in need of protection and stability,” Damian replied, his own face slipping into his calm strictness. “You know what it’s like.”

“Whether you were alive or not, we would have taken Black with us nonetheless,” Tim added, arms crossing over his chest.

“By some miracle you were brought back to us,” Damian says.

“However we have to question whether this shell wearing your image is really the child we raised from infancy,” Tim tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Or really the little boy who would seek us out during the storms.”

Outside the wind seems to pick up, the rain beating mercilessly against the broken glass.

Lightning strikes.

“If you are back to us, we will welcome you back with open arms and clear hearts,” Damian promises, offering his hand.

“If not, we will continue to mourn the son we lost and forget this night ever happened,” Tim hisses. “Because you are not acting like the son we loved and will not manipulate our minds into your selfish wishes.”

Dick takes a step back as if stung by the words and his mind takes him back to the days of his youth, where Tim would always offer him open affection and advice and Damian would always be there to protect him from the invisible monsters.  Where Tim, for all his smaller frame and pale skin, was the disciplinary figure while Damian usually let him and Jason get away with mostly anything as long as they did not leave a mess for Alfred to find.

Even now, years later, his parental figures are still waiting for him.

Another flash of lightning pierces the sky.

“Dude,” Jason says weakly. “You know them, mom and pops, just tell them what you want, the truth.”

Dick turns to Jason, the older brother he always dreamed of, his personal hero. The same teenager that held his hand whenever he was scared by the storm and delivered him gently into Tim’s open arms, the same one who taught him not to fear Damian’s intimidating growls. The one that helped him fly again.

“Jay…” Dick whispers, and finally looks at Batman’s dark cowl and Nemesis’ blue domino mask. “I want…”

Damian and Tim stare at him, silent in their judgment. Stinging with their disapproval.

 “I want…” he continues, feeling all his strength leave him. “I want to go home.”

A tear rolls down his cheek, followed by another, a thousand. He can’t make himself care enough. His knees finally give out and he can only hold onto the black hem of Batman’s cape with one hand while the other reaches for Nemesis’ boot, his back heaving as he lets out the anguish, the pain and the shrieks of the Lazarus echoing in his head.

“I want to go home, dad,” he cries. “I want it to be okay again. Please make it okay.”

In seconds Tim is on his knees by his side, cradling his sobbing face against his chest, his fingers carding gently through his long hair.

“Then come home,” Damian says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “The door never closed for you.”

“Dad, mom,” he whimpers, clinging to Tim’s arms. “I don’t want to be alone again… please.”

“Silly circus monkey,” Tim whispers, the ice melting from his voice for a second and matching the sweet lilt that Dick still hears in his dreams of the past. “Welcome home.”

Dick instantly crumbles, sobbing the cold of his own grave and the stench of death of the League of Assassins, sobbing the despair of seeing Batman fly around Gotham with Black Bat and knowing himself replaced by another. He cries because he wanted it to be okay and didn’t know how to fix the madness, the pain. Because all he wanted was to sink in the embrace of his childhood and never let them leave him again.

As he finally finds solace and safety, his body giving out on the exhaustion, he ignores how the police is there to drag The Joker away, how Damian is lifting Jason’s heavy body effortlessly and Tim is staring at them with a small smile of pride.

His family is surrounding him.

He feels at peace.


	4. Son of the Bat

Most, if not all of the family’s children, Damian had to admit, had appeared in their lives in unforeseen and impressive ways. From Jason’s attempt to steal the Batmovile’s rims and Dick’s parent’s unfortunate murder to Lady Shiva’s battered form as she handed her daughter to Tim during battle.

So it wasn’t such a surprise when Tim called Damian to his own home to find him sitting in the kitchen isle, sipping a cup of steaming coffee and staring at the ten year old child currently sleeping on his couch.

“Timothy?” he asked, frowning.

“Don’t ask me,” Tim said shrugging. “I woke up this morning and he was here. I thought you had sent him here.”

“I wouldn’t send you another kid,” Damian scowled. “We have enough as it is.”

Tin raised an eyebrow, knowing his lover didn’t approve of his stray-picking tendencies – he would always huff and protest that the children stole Timothy’s attention from him, but Tim knew he really was a big softy that loved all his sons and daughter madly – and would sometimes have to drag him away from Crime Alley in fear he would pick another kid.

“Then there is no logical explanation, is there?” Tim asked, far too calm for Damian’s tastes.

“Tt,” he snapped. “Beloved, you should upgrade your security.”

“I did, remember? Right after I upgraded yours,” Tim deadpanned, pouting. Damian sighed and kissed the pout away.

“A prank?” he asked.

“Jason is out of town and Steph is training the new Batgirl, remember? Barbara?”

Both men stared at the child, trying to determine his origin by his clothing or the dirt in his shoes. Failing and frustrated by such fact, Damian decided he might as well do the only intelligent thing he could.

With a snap of his wrist, he pulled the blankets covering the child away, his frown deepening when the boy became instantly awake and stood, brandishing a sword against them both.

A trained kid, then.

Unusual.

“Do not presume!” the child snapped, eyes narrowed. Tim and Damian blinked.

“What?” Batman asked, hands clenching.

“Who sent you,” Tim asked at the same time, crossing his arms over his chest. He was sure Oracle must have picked the distress signal by now and must be monitoring this meeting. Jason and Cass would be on their way if the need arose.

Or if their children became too curious, which was more than possible, considering their past antics.

He sighed when the sound of boots echoed in his drive way.

Of course.

***

Damian couldn’t believe his eyes as he read the report Stephanie handed him. His eyes turned grim as he regarded Tim’s paling face, the way he seemed to sway and falter for a second before his hand was clutching Damian’s tightly.

“He’s your son,” he whispered, biting his lips.

“And yours,” Damian added, his hand tightening around Tim.

“It is kind of funny if you ask me,” Stephanie’s disembodied voice flared through the speakers, her purple mask bouncing around the screen. “A perfect clone of the two of you, the closest you will ever come to have children of your own?”

“We have children of our own!” Damian protested, frowning. “Three of them.”

“Four, apparently,” Steph corrected, her smugness clear despite the distorted voice.

“Cut it out, Steph, please,” Tim begged, taking a seat. “How could this happen, I’m sure Luthor would have never let Ra’s Al Ghul within inches of his technology.”

“Why don’t we ask the brat?” Damian scowled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t think he will be very forthcoming about his origins,” Tim commented, his own arms coming around his chest. Damian worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches him. For some reason, his beloved seems to be in the brink of collapse.

He shook his head.

“Timothy,” he said, placing both hands on Tim’s shoulders to capture his attention before leaning in for a kiss. “I will come back in a few days, three at most.”

Tim kissed him lightly, his lips trembling.

“Where are you going?” he asked, uncertain.

“I think I can pull in a favor from someone,” Damian admited, pulling the cowl over his face and walking stiffly towards one of the bikes. “Someone with reliable information.”

Tim blinked, and for a moment, he looked like the child caressing Damian’s frozen cheek as it snows, like the lost little boy that didn’t understand love and yet was so ready to give it.

Damian won’t let Timothy suffer for this.

“Who?” Tim asked finally as Damian fastens a helmet over his head.

Damian started the engine.

“My mother,” he said before driving away. He won’t stand for any nonsense from his estranged family.

***

  
Talia wais, of course, as young as the day he last saw her, and he couldn’t help but think that they no longer look like mother and son, that the differences between them were too great now, and that such differences would continue to grow with time. He idly wondered what would have become of him had he stayed by her side and decided he doesn’t want to contemplate the alternatives. Not when he has a family waiting for him at Gotham.

Not when Timothy was waiting for him.

“Mother,” he called, not surprised when she doesn’t even flinch in his presence. His mother could always sense him, no matter his attempts at stealth.

“Damian,” she greeted, taking a sip of her glass of wine. “I take it the boy finally reached you.”

Chardonnay, Damian could tell from the color and scent.

Her favorite.

“Finally?” he asked, hands clenching. “What have you done, mother, what is the meaning of this.”

“I had nothing to do with the child, son,” she said simply, her slender shoulders shrugging elegantly. “This was all your grandfather’s doing.”

“Speak, mother,” he demanded, approaching her reclining figure. She showed no fear and most likely feels no threat from him. She was immortal and he was not, there was no competition from him, no danger. He narrowed his eyes, pulling his cowl back. “What has grandfather done.”

His mother raised and eyebrow, eyeing his face with noticeable interest before a cruel smile curls her ruby-red lips.

“It was all your beau’s fault, my son, and his refusal to bend to father’s little whims,” she began, sipping her wine once more. “Of course your grandfather would set eyes on your little companion and his continuous rejections had worn on his patience, as you can imagine.”

“So he cloned him?” Damian hissed, a snarl showing his teeth to his mother.

She shrugged again.

“If your young Mr. Drake would not share his incommensurable talents with The League, of course father would attempt to harness that prodigious intellect for himself in some other way,” she explained, eyes piercing his.

“And cloning me?”

“Please, Damian,” Talia sighed. “You do know you were your grandfather’s first masterpiece, a child made to perfection. Of course your precious DNA combined with your lover’s intelligence would make the perfect mixture of excellence your grandfather had sought so. You are, after all, an Al Ghul.”

“I am Damian Wayne,” Damian growled, his hand reaching for her and knocking the glass from her delicate hand, the sound of its crashing against the wall sending a thrill of satisfaction through his system as much as her surprised expression. “And what part do  _you_  play in this? We both know you are not the mothering type.”

She glared at him for a moment, her lips pursing in distaste before smoothing into an expressionless mask.

“I did try to explain the same thing, but your grandfather insisted the child needed a mother,” she said evenly. “However he did not take well when I informed him he had no mother.”

“You did what?”

“I am not the child’s mother, Damian, and I will not entertain his ridiculous fantasies,” she informed him, eyes straying to the fireplace currently lighting the room. “The boy researched you both, your lives and all the data I had on me of the two of you, and then disappeared. I guessed he would approach your home.”

Damian suddenly paled, his eyes wide.

“He didn’t,” he whispered, instantly turning to the window. “He infiltrated Drake Manor.”

“Oh,” Talia mocked, rolling her eyes. “How precious.”

Damian jumped through the window and into his bike, the engine roaring into the night as he hurried back home. He just left a child assassin obsessed with the idea of his absent parents alone with Timothy and his children.

“Oracle!” he yelled into his comm. “Where’s Nemesis?”

“Calm down, big guy!” the woman replied. “He’s on patrol with Black Bat, Alfred is looking after your baby boy.”

“Call Nightwing back to the manor, Stephanie,” he said urgently, his eyes wide.

“What?” she asked, obvious concern in her mechanical voice.

“Do it!”

***

He arrived into the manor at the same time as he saw Tim dashing from the cave, Nemesis costume still on but mask off in the rush to get home. Cassandra was running behind him, her eyes wide. All three of them stared at eachother for a second before the clashing of metal against metal alerted them their worst fears have been confirmed.

Alfred was unconscious on the floor, a small bump on his head, Cassandra instantly knelt by his side, checking for further injuries, the dilatation of his pupils, his pulse, the color of his skin, the warmth of his body.

She nodded to them.

“He’s just unconscious,” she whispered, eyes saddened.

Tim nodded, eyes searching the shadows of the manor.

“Steph, where’s Dick?” he asked, hands clenching and unclenching nervously.

“Garden, the demon brat is with him,” Oracle replied instantly. “It looks bad.”

It’s bad, alright.

Bad enough that Dick flies through the window, eyes narrowed in homicidal rage, dragged a shotgun from the study’s vault and jumped out again, a snarl curling his mouth.

Damian peered through the window, eyes wide as his unstable son started shooting at the demon brat – who in turn evaded each shot expertly – before ducking from getting stabbed with a hunting knife himself.

“STOP!” Tim snapped, eyes wide and Dick instantly turned to the sound of his voice, always obeying his mother figure. The child, on the other hand, snarled loudly before he plunged his knife on Dick’s side, deepening it as much as he could on his opponent’s skin.

“Dick!” Cass cried, her legs propelling her to kick the child away from her brother.

“You,” Damian hissed immediately grabbing the boy by the neck. “You come to my house, try to kill my son. Is this why grandfather sent you?”

The boy struggled against his grip, eyes wide and terrified and his whole bravado lost against the force that was Batman’s wrath. Tim was tending to Dick, calling out for Cass to help him take the injured young man to the cave and for Jason to hurry into the house.

“He didn’t… send me…” the child whimpered, eyes watering. “I… ran away…”

“From the League of Assassins?” Damian snarled.

“Batman, stop!” Jason yelled, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the kid who fell limp into the ground. Damian’s eyes were wide.

“Jason…” he whispered. “Richard is…”

“I know, Nemesis told me,” Jason said, wrapping his arms around his father and hiding his face on the man’s powerful shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, you know that…”

Damian wanted to reassure his child that yes, everything would be okay, Timothy was skilled enough to help Richard and Cassandra would also assist them. The child his grandfather sent to play with their heads was skilled, yes, but not enough to actually threaten them and could be sent away soon.

No word made it past his lips however.

And Damian realized he was trembling.

***

When Stephanie announced that the kid has woken up, Damian tried not to flinch. He could still feel the fragile bones against his fingers, the way they bent against his strength. His hand that could have easily killed, broken the oath he swore to his parents, was now holding Dick’s limp one as the young man rested, eyes swollen shut with bruises and lips cut crimson-red with their blood.

Tim placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s go, Damian, we need to face this,” he said gently, his thumb caressing the man’s skin.

Damian shook his head.

“Just put him on a plane back to grandfather,” he said softly, unable to tear his eyes from Richard’s calloused fingers.

“You know we can’t do that…” Tim replied, eyes sad.

“We can,” Damian snapped.

“Damian…”

“He ran away, dad,” Richard whispered suddenly. “He says he’s your legitimate son.”

“Shh,” Tim soothed. “Is that why you two fought?”

“He said…” Dick frowned lightly, still dizzy with painkillers most likely. “… that we had enjoyed  _his_ parents long enough and that he wanted them back… that he deserved you two more than  _we_  did.”

“And he decided to kill you when you wouldn’t  move..” Tim surmised, shaking his head.

“He’s an animal,” Damian hissed.

“He just like you when you arrived,” Tim reminded him, eyes narrowed.

Damian narrowed his eyes, his teeth grinding into eachother.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Timothy,” he said, looking away. “Not this time.”

“He reminds me of you,” Timothy said simply, shaking his head. “Violent, mistrustful, alone.”

“He tried to kill Richard,” Damian argued, eyes wide.

“You tried to kill Alfred,” Tim replied. “Just sit with him for five minutes, Beloved. That’s all I’m asking. If you decide it is not worth the effort, I will personally drive him to the airport.”

They locked eyes, Damian’s full of ire and Tim’s with calm resignation.

“You will sent him back to The League?”

“No, I will send him somewhere where he will be appreciated.”

Damian rolled his eyes, standing. Timothy for all his cold calculations and inflexible will, was weak against the simple idea of a child being unwanted. Yes, Janet Drake had made a number on her child, and yes, Damian understood, and most of the time, tolerated such impulses, all three of them.

But this boy was crossing the line.

He stalked towards the holding room where the child was being held, nodding to Jason as he opened the door.

Cassandra was sitting by the boy’s bedside, occasionally rubbing cream on the black and purple bruises on the child’s neck.

Damian’s handprint.

He shook his head when the boy’s wide blue eyes met his.

The same blue, but the roundness of his eyes was all Tim.

“What is your name, boy?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

The child looked at him for a second, silence stretching into the room, before his eyes fell on his folded hands over his lap and his cheeks colored with shame.

“I don’t have a name,” he admitted, much to Damian’s surprise. “I am the child, the boy, the clone. I don’t have a name like you or your family do.”

Damian stared into the embarrassed face for a moment before motioning for Cassandra to leave the room, silent in every way until he was sure she was gone and had dragged Jason with her.

“I thought grandfather would have given you one, considering the circumstances,” he commented as he took Cass’s vacated seat.

“Circumstances?” the boy asked, eyes wide.

“You are a perfect clone born from his perfect obsession,” Damian commented, eyes straying to the window. “The family always had a weakness for the intelligent type.”

“You mean The Master is in love with Mr. Drake?”

“Or so it looks to the family,” Damian shrugged. “To outsiders it might look like a potential admiration of his intelligence.”

The boy nodded, his frown thoughtful.

“It would explain a lot,” he muttered. “I look more like you than I look like him. I guess it’s the reason why he sent me to live with Miss Talia.”

Damian sighed.

“Why did you come here, child,” he asked. “You ran away, you could have hidden anywhere in the world. Why here?”

The boy shook his head, embarrassed.

“I never knew my mother or father, I thought I would if I behaved but then The Master sent me to live with Miss Talia and I thought maybe I was hers,” he said and laughed mournfully. “She shot me down quite quickly, so I decided I should find out where I had come from.”

Finally the boy pulled an old piece of paper from his pocket, folded and unfolded in so many places it felt to Damian like it might disintegrate in his hands.

A cut-out from a League’s report.

A picture of them.

Tim and Damian were sitting in the garden, hand in hand. Jason was ruffling Cassandra’s hair as she pouted lightly and Dick’s head rested on Tim’s lap, where the smaller man’s fingers played with his hair.

A sudden burst of cold clenched his insides.

“I thought you weren’t my parents because you couldn’t be parents, but then I realized you had them,” the child hissed. “Why them and not me? I am your own flesh and blood, I will always be more legitimate and… and…”

Damian stared at the picture, at the way the boy’s hands trembled over his lap and his teeth sank into his bottom lip – just like Damian used to do when he was younger – the way his brows would furrow and his nose wrinkle – Tim’s nose wrinkled like that when he tried to hold back tears – and realized this child, this lost little boy, had just travelled half of the world to see his parents, or the ones he thought were his parents, only to find a happy family that didn’t include him.

He had lashed out in the only way he knew.

The way of the League.

He closed his eyes.

“You are named after your grandfather,” he said finally, locking eyes with the ones almost mirroring his own.

The boy’s eyes widened.

“Ra’s?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“No,” Damian said, handing the picture back to those little hands – how come he hadn’t noticed how little they were? – and pointed to the painting on top of the room’s chimney. “Those are you grandparents, the ones that took me in and taught me everything. You are named after my real father.”

The boy’s eyes traveled over their faces, their smiles, and then to the golden plaque at the bottom of the canvas.

**Thomas B. Wayne and Martha A. Wayne.**

“That means…” he whimpered, his eyes growing bright.

Damian nodded in defeat, later on he would blame this on Timothy and his mind games. He was sure his lover had planned this from the beginning.

“Welcome home, Bruce Jackson Wayne,” he said softly.

Damian wouldn’t move for the following hour or so, too busy holding the boy, his Bruce, as he cried his little heart out, holding onto his father’s hands and muttering his thanks over and over. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. The child was a trained assassin and his morals left much to be desired – he would have to keep him away from Dick for a while – but they had managed with Cassandra and his parents had managed with him.

He could do it.

From the doorway, Tim smiled his little proud smile.

No.

They could do it. 


	5. The Justice League

He runs them from his city the moment they set foot onto it. He knows the have been lurking, has heard their whispers and smirked at their pathetic attempts at playing the normal, harmless civilians they are not. But when they finally reveal themselves, all bright colored and self-righteous, he is ready to just scoff and growl that they are not allowed in Gotham.

The bloated alien blinks before trying to reason with him and the Amazon’s eyes are unconsciously riding down his torso with curiosity that is not wanted nor welcomed - which he lets her know - and he pulls the disappearing act that made Gordon scoff in annoyance and Jason cackle madly. Before they are even aware of his intentions.

Next time, he’s sending Cass to deal with the outsiders. She knows how to drive them mad with frustration alone.

What he is not expecting, however, is to find his usual pillow and favorite blanket waiting for him at the cave, neatly folded over a gurney with a note pinned to the linnen.

Tim’s neat penmanship stating that: “If you’re not up to play nice with the Justice League then I’m not up to share your bed either.”

Damian scowls, crumbling the letter in his fist before donning the cowl back and stalking out of the cave to search for the alien and the Amazon… If he ever wants to see his lover in intimacy again, he’ll have to ‘play nice’.

Damn it.

This time he is greeted by the ‘space cop’ and big and blue - as Jason decided to call them himself - who offer him a formal invite to their Justice League, gold engraved and carefully crafted. He would have admitted he is impressed but big and blue’s puppy dog eyes are on his so he simply scowls, but nods.

The cheers that raise around him and all the hand-shaking leave him in a bad mood for the rest of the week and will condition him to snarl at Superman from then on and to avoid Wonder Woman whenever he can.

He is getting too old for Tim and Alfred to set him on playdates.

As soon as he knows Jason will behave he introduces him to his new… Teammates and is proud when his partner loudly states he has seen better himself. When Dicks comes into the fold he introduces him too and shakes his head when the boy hides from Superman under his cape, he will not admit it’s adorable’ no matter how much Diana and J’onn insist.

He doesn’t however, allow the Justice League to meet his husband. Not because he doesn’t think him capable enough, but because of the opposite.

Tim is just too good, too perfect to be around the usual band of misfits that form the team and he is sure The Flash would be awestruck and stalk Tim until exhaustion.

He is not sure Superman would be happy if he killed the speedster .

He’d rather be safe than sorry.

“I’m human too,” Tim protests time and time again. “I crave human interaction.”

Damian scowls and crosses his arms, mentally preparing himself for another night in the cave. He’d rather have Tim’s ire than Barry’s annoying stalking. His grandfather’s infatuation with his husband is proof enough he cannot share Tim with the rest of the world.

Not ever.

And in the end, like everything in his life even remotely related to his grandfather and the league, the option is taken right out of Damian’s hands.

Five years of delightful understanding and hiding Tim’s beautiful face behind a hologram are thrown out the window by none other that his so-called son.

Bruce - damned brat, he should have killed him when he got the chance - appears inside the Watchtower, eyes narrowed and unimpressed, and makes his way towards Batman as haughtily as he can manage given the circumstances.

Right in the middle of a League meeting.

Brat.

“Father,” he says , frowning. “Red Robin left to drink with Nightwing and asked me to make sure you knew. Please do make him understand I am not some uncultured errand boy for his amusement, nor am I cute and cuddly? Otherwise I’ll be forced to terminate him.”

Damian allows himself a frustrated sigh, ignoring the curious eyes directed at the ten year old as he turns to regard him.

“And you had to come all the way to the Watchtower for this?” he asks, staring down at his son in an attempt to intimidate him.

Bruce pouts, not that he will ever admit to it.

“Mother asked me to make sure and your communicator was off,” the child explains, thin arms crossing over his small chest. “It was only logical for me to come and make sure you heard the message considering the astounding amount of time the retards you call your team will take to reach a consensus.”

Damian rolls his eyes under his cowl, ignoring the complains from Allen and Jordan.

 He can tell Bruce is clearly lying and most likely Tim has no idea where he is.

His eyes meet Superman’s amused gaze and Princess Diana’s curious one and tries his best not to look at his son’s nervous blue eyes – Tim blue, damn it - before patting his head and nodding.

“Thank you, Robin,” he says finally. “Now go back to the cave and inform Nemesis that he will direct patrol tonight.”

“Yes, father,” Bruce nods, walking towards the transported without acknowledging the other heroes.

Batman sighs.

“I thought Nemesis was an AI,” Superman says then, blinking.

“Yeah, why is Robin going to talk to the computer?” Allen asks.

“Is this Nemesis man your child’s mother?” Jordan leers, wiggling his eyebrows. “Woah, Bats.”

This time, Damian does not contain himself.

He allows his forehead to hit the table and refuses to move for the next hour.

The things he does for his beloved.


	6. Drabble: Red Robin's Heart.

Damian watches over him with inscrutable eyes that make him want to bash his head against a wall until his liquefied brain slips from his fingers like putty.

It’s not that  _he_  wants to do it, not really, Damian is a growl-prone version of his papa and he really, really loves him, but there are voices in his head now, voices tinted a sickly green that sort of twists and coils and whine incessantly and he wants them to stop so fucking much.

He wants to go to the master bedroom and curl against Tim’s chest, warmed by Damian’s strong arms as he embraces – protects – them both.

But he can’t.

As a child he barged on them and cared nothing about the consequences of his actions. He was a kid and had kid needs, and now he’s an adult – of sorts- and when he watches the careful way Damian touches Tim’s hand when he works, the way Tim’s smile is sweet and soft for them all but the one he gives his lover is just… blinding in its intensity.

He can’t believe he didn’t notice before the perfect way they fit eachother, the aura of sensual closeness that envelops them at all times.

No wonder Jason decided to leave on his own after he hit puberty.

So, he hovers by the sidelines, begging for a moment of silence, for Damian’s eyes to go away and to never leave him, for Jay to tell one of his customary stupid jokes and for the kids to disappear.

He is a monster and he knows it.

Whenever Cass approaches him a thousand of apologies clog his throat and suffocate him with their judgmental weight, because she is so cute and silent and eager and he wants to tickle her to hear her breathy laughter one more time.

He sighs, stepping into the gardens, curling his bare toes against the grass.

The sun ins up, he took his meds, it will be a good day.

He hopes.

A small hand lands on his shoulder, making him turn.

Tim is there, a small smile on his face making Dick feel like he’s nine again and scared of the storm.

“It’s a nice day,” he says, unsure.

Tim smiles.

“It seems like the perfect day for some outdoors reading, don’t you think?” the older man replies, looking at the sky.

Dinnertime will find them curled up on the grass, back to a tree, Dick’s head on Tim’s lap, Tim’s thing fingers carding through his dark hair, voice soft as he reads Herman Melville to his charge.

“If I was a whale, I would eat you all,” Dick says suddenly, eyes closed.

Tim’s fingers never stop their caresses, his voice remains soft, even.

“Oh? And why is that?” he asks gently, a tender exhalation against the late afternoon air.

“You’ve be inside of me,” the younger man sighs. “If I eat you, you’d be a part of me forever.”

Tim would have said something, Dick is sure, - something insightful, something that made sense inside Dick’s damaged psyche and quieted the voices of the Lazarus – but Bruce’s foot is on his forehead as the child is suddenly just  _there,_ trying to climb his way into Nemesis’ embrace and push him away at the same time.

“Don’t be stupid,” Bruce says, scowling, his short arm wrapped around Tim’s neck. “If you were to eat mother, you would eventually potty him.”

Tim’s eyes widen.

Dick stares at their resident Brat Prince as the boy gets comfortable on his previous spot, takes another book from behind his back and presents Tim with it.

“The Mask of Zorro?” Tim asks with resigned indulgence Dick has notices Tim only allows for the family, wrapping an arm around Bruce and making room for Dick to get close once more. “What do you think?”

Dick takes a deep breath, two, the Lazarus whispers of their blood in his hands, their cries in his ears, but the he thinks of himself as an enormous white whale with ferocious teeth sitting on a toilet under the sea while Aquaman pats his back.

He laughs.

“Sure,” he says, snuggling against Tim’s knee. “But you have to do the voices! I love it when you do the voices.”

Bruce looks intrigued as Tim begins to read.

Dick sighs and feels, for the first time in a long time, that he is home and sure, he’s broken, there no denying that, and maybe it’ll take years for him to get better – functional – again, but he’s getting there.

He is sure.


	7. Drabble: Justice League II.

Clark had been expecting many things to come from this first meeting, so far all of Batman’s children had rejected their attempts to invite them to the league and Superman was sure it was due to their mentor’s more than a little reluctant of his own, but now that he knew that Nemesis was a real person – Robin’s mommy, for Or’s sake! – he knew he would be able to reason with him and maybe gain a new ally.

When a man in his apparent early thirties – late twenties? He looked about Jason’s age – appeared instead of the curvy woman he had been expecting, Clark felt his resolve crumble a little, he hadn’t thought Batman would… prefer the company of other men.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Nemesis,” he greeted anyways, offering his hand to the shorter man. “My name is…”

“Just a second Mr. Kent,” Nemesis interrupted, head tilting to the side. “I believe we agreed I could come to this meeting alone?”

Batman appeared from the shadows in all his brooding, dark caped glory, a displeased frown marking his face.

“I trust you,” he growled.

Nemesis huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure you do.”

“Of course we trust you, mother,” Robin assured, appearing from behind Batman’s massive shadow. “We don’t trust thee buffoons.”

Superman blinked, not sure what to tell his tong time comrade and his son.

“We are the good guys, Bats!” Barry protested, pouting.

“So you say, Allen,” Damian replied dismissibly, standing menacingly by Nemesis’ side.

Tim’s scowl deepened when he noticed Wonder Woman’s fond smile.

“How come we are the bad guys when you are the one we don’t even know the name of,” Green Lantern scowled back.

“Superman knows my name, Jordan,” Damian defended himself, making the rest of the league gape.

“Clark!” The Flash whined, vibrating with frustration.

“You never told?” Hal protested, turning on the alien. “Seriously?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell?” Superman argued back, flushing.

Nemesis turned to Batman.

“You have been less forthcoming than you led me to believe,” he accused.

“I did not lie,” Batman replied.

“You implied.”

“He told his boyfriend who we were!” Jordan snapped at Superman, arms on his hips. “How is that for not his secret to tell either?”

“Oh, he didn’t have to tell me, Captain Jordan,” nemesis replied simply. “It was easy to deduce your identities myself.”

Green Lantern scowled.

“Of course.”

“Guys, come on!” Clark begged. “We are not here to fight!”

“Superman is right,” Wonder Woman said seriously “Batman has proved himself over the years as a worthy ally and a honorable warrior, to suddenly doubt his motives is ridiculous.”

“Thank you?” Batman said sarcastically, eyes narrowed.

“Damian,” Nemesis hissed, batting him on the arm.

Batman’s shoulders slumped.

“Fine.”

“Hah!” The Flash laughed, slapping his knee. “Bats is so totally whipped.”

“Dr. Allen,” Nemesis snapped, face stern, “Do cease before you get hurt.”

Superman could easily see the cogs moving inside the speedster’s head, and yeah, Barry wasn’t as dumb as he liked to make others think he was and Clark would have been as confused as the rest of the league if it wasn’t for the fact that Perry had sent him to Central City to cover the opening of the new Drake Industries Lab and Jimmy had taken the funniest picture of the new Head of Research, Dr. Barry Allen, falling onto himself in his eagerness to stretch Timothy Drake’s hand in his.

“M.. Mr… B…” Flash stuttered, face as red as his costume. “Mr… D…”

Nemesis smiled like a predator.

“Hello, Dr. Allen,” he mocked.

Superman winced sympathetically, it must suck to realize you have been making fun of your boss and the man whose intellect you’ve gone out of your way to praise on the press.

“So, you know who this guy is?” Hal asked Barry in awe.

“I would keep my mouth shut if I were you, if I wanted to keep my job, at least,” a voice growled from the shadows behind them, making Robin groan, Batman smirk and Nemesis turn to stare at his lover.

“Seriously?” he asked. “Seriously, D?”

“I have nothing to do with this,” Batman shrugged, still smirking.

“Right, of course,” the other hero growled. “We will have a talk home, Nightwing.”

“Don’t blame us, Nem,” Nightwing laughed, balancing head down on a gargoyle. “You are just too cute and D was afraid the JLA would try to steal you away.”

“So you roped your brother and sister into chaperoning with you?” Nemesis snapped. “This is unbelievable, I can defend myself just fine without any of you.”

“Don’t leave us,” Black Bat ordered, practically materializing to the older hero’s left.

To her side, Red Robin scoffed.

The LJA stood in shock as the hooded man placed a gentle hand on Black Bat’s hair, and one on Red Robin’s uncovered cheek, his whole body relaxing.

“You know I’ll never leave you, children,” he whispered, his smile growing pained when Dick wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, face hiding on his shoulder.

“You can’t go,” the young man mumbled. “No matter how much Superman wants you. I’ll kill them all if you leave.”

Hal and Barry paled.

Diana blinked in shock.

Clark flushed lightly.

Batman laughed proudly, chest puffing.

Nemesis looked over Red Robin’s shoulder, glacial eyes behind his mask apologetic.

“As you can see, Mr. Kent, I am a little busy for an active League membership,” he said, shaking his head when Black Bat took his free hand and held it tightly in her own.

“We can still be friends, right?” Superman asked eagerly, eyes wide.

Nemesis shrugged.

“Sure, why not?” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I naughty children to punish back home.”

Robin instantly disentangled himself from Batman and jealously wrapped his arms around Tim’s stomach.

“But I was dragged into this, Mother,” he argued, pouting. “I am innocent.”

Nemesis smiled at him.

“I wasn’t talking about you or your siblings, Robin.”

To their right, Batman stiffened.


	8. Drabble: Birthday.

That morning, Timothy Jackson Drake III (or so his mother claimed his full name was when he had a glass too much of champagne) woke up because of the noiseless rustle of his sheets against his toes.

“Damian,” he complained sleepily. “Cuddle me.”

“I have to…”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” Tim interrupted, reaching for his lover’s nipple with a lazy hand. “Cuddle me to sleep for another hour?”

The taller man seemed to hesitate for a moment, a shiver running under his skin before he turned on his spot to stare at his partner.

“Timothy,” he began.

“I’m naked and in dire need of some cuddling, maybe spooning also, when I’m awake enough,” Tim explained, fingers playing with the dark fuzz on Damian’s chest.

Two seconds of silence was all it took for Damian to wrap his arms around Tim from behind and sink his nose in his dark hair.

“Happy Birthday,” he whispered, smiling when his only reply was a tired snore.

Let the children cook Tim his customary birthday breakfast without him for once. Alfred would be there to make sure Dick and Bruce didn’t kill eachother and yeah, Jason would stop them from entering the bedroom until he was sure they were ready.

… he hoped.


	9. Punishment

Damian woke up in the middle of the night as usual.

He had always been a light sleeper – he’s the goddamn Batman, after all – and the slightest change in the air would usually rouse him from his sleep.

This, time, however, it was not the slightest change in the air or the whisper of footsteps on the fluffy carpet of his bedroom.

It was a soft kiss deposited on his left nipple, while cold, slender fingers played with the right one.

He opened an eye, feeling disoriented.

Timothy smiled right back at him, his mercurial eyes glinting with malice in the moonlight.

Damian’s eyes narrowed.

“You _drugged_ me,” he said, finally becoming aware of his surroundings.

Timothy simply crossed his arm over his chest, one of his elegant brows rising in disbelief and annoyance.

“ _You_ stood me up,” he retorted, his voice cool and mechanical. “I hope you understand that after this, Wayne Enterprises will not be getting their merging with Drake Industries, don’t you?”

Damian felt himself roll his eyes, accustomed already to his lover’s antics.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Drake was stood up, I’m afraid my previous engagement with the Joker ran a little bit late and I thought it inappropriate to call ahead?” he mocked, trying to get up only to finally come to the realization that his wrists were tied to the headboard of Tim’s bed.

Not _their_ bed in Wayne Manor.

No.

Timothy’s bed in Drake Hall.

He gulped.

“The Joker, huh?” Timothy said, his voice portraying his unimpressed-ness with the chilling accuracy of his late mother.

“He _was_ about to blow up the airport?” Damian tried, reaching with his fingers to get a feeling of the handcuffs currently holding him in place. Steel, leather and no lock.

Tim was furious, then.

“I see…” the smaller man said, going back to idly playing with Damian’s nipple, nails lightly scratching in skin and sending shivers down his spine.

Because he was naked, and quickly getting hard.

Had he mentioned that as well?

No?

Well, he was.

Timothy had, somehow, drugged him and dragged him back to Drake Hall, where he had proceeded to undress him and tie him to his bed.

And he found it one of the most erotic things his lover had ever done.

No, scratch that.

Because Timothy was walking backwards, slender hips swaying back and forth as he slowly, ever so slowly undid his tie, letting the silk slide off his neck in one quick movement before those dexterous fingers started making an agonizing work of the tiny buttons on his white shirt.

And Damian finally, _finally_ understood why this was something he was supposed to hate instead of one big, wonderful dream.

Because Timothy was beautiful and perfect and slowly revealing his body to the moon, glowing under the moonlight like an apparition.

And he..

…couldn’t..

… touch him.

“T-Timothy!” he growled, his fists making the chains rattle around his wrists.

“Damian,” Timothy replied, his playful smile full force as he turned around, displaying his scarred back to his beloved.

And he dropped his designer pants to pool at his feet.

Damian groaned in almost physical pain.

“Please…” he whimpered, the muscles in his legs tight, his blood pumping molten, his lips dry. Tim had bent down to remove his pants and underwear, his legs toned, his skin perfect.

Liquid clear and bright had trickled down his thigh.

“You prepared yourself beforehand!” Damian whined, like a wounded animal, like a rabid beast.

Timothy finally turned back to stare at him, each step making his body a thing of beauty.

“And you…” he whispered, slowly climbing on top of his lover, pale hand splaying over his muscled chest. “Stood… me… up.”

“The Joker!” Damian gasped when the other man finally aligned their bodies together, both angry erections coming to contact, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to Timothy’s usually frigid skin.

“We have four highly trained children who could have taken the job for one… fucking… night!” Tim moaned back, hips rocking back and forth as he closed his eyes. “We have friends and family who are more than willing to babysit the city for a few hours.”

Timothy reached behind them, his slender fingers warming as he grasped the head of Damian’s cock, his steel blue-grey eyes locked with the taller man while he moved his hand up and down the shaft, feeling every shudder, every inch.

“Uh…” Damian protested incoherently, shaking his head from side to side.

“Shut up,” Tim hissed as he slid onto his lover’s erection as slowly as he could. “I’m… oh… I’m punishing you.”

Damian thrust his hips upwards as hard as he could, with the desperation of a starving man, Tim’s eyes flew open, his mouth opening into a soft ‘o’ of pure pleasure.

“Fuck, you are so thick!” the other man groaned, his back arched as he slowly adapted, his fingers playing with Damian’s body the same way he usually did his violin, careful, meticulous, tortuous. “I wanted to greet midnight with you inside of me, with your big, hard – ooh! Hmmm thick cock inside of me!”

“Timothy!” Damian moaned himself, the word becoming a mantra of all the feelings, all the frustration, all the love he held for this wonderful, insane man currently riding him like a toy horse. The same way this man commandeered his very life, ruled his every thought since the day he placed his small hand on his neck, looking for a pulse, while shouting for an ambulance and assuring him everything was going to be okay.

How long had it been since that wonderful, miraculous day in the snowy streets?

His eyes widened.

“Beloved!” he gasped as he strained the muscles of his thighs in order to drive harder and faster into Tim’s smaller body, drinking every single moan and soft groan of pleasure his lover allowed to escape his pale lips. “Twenty years already! Twenty years to the day!”

Tim’s eyes finally went to meet his own, his smile shy and a little bit silly when compared to his flushed cheeks and feverish skin, to the bead of sweat slowly rolling down his temple.

“Took you… oh, yes! Right there!... Ah… long enough, Damian!” he whimpered, reaching over Damian to push a small piece of metal from the bedframe itself and suddenly Damian’s wrists were tingly as blood rushed towards his fingers.

He was free.

Damian took a deep breath, unable to believe Timothy, who was always busy juggling their private life, their night life, their emotionally damaged family and the relationship the two had…

… could still remember it had been exactly twenty years since the first moment they had met.

With strength pulled from his bursting emotions he suddenly was a mess of hands caressing every inch they could possibly reach, his lips kissing and biting and licking. His tongue invaded Timothy’s mouth, pulling the most beautiful sounds and swallowing them, keeping them forever trapped inside himself, just as he slowly, careful he might break his beloved, he pushed the man on his back on the bed.

His hips never stopping their thrusting, gaining momentum and power the more he was able to lay his weight as well as his strength into his passion.

“You are too good to me,” he whispered as he finally found himself on top, arms tightly wrapped around his lover’s small body, marveling in how small he was, how perfectly he fitted under him. “Ah, beloved, I can’t believe that you have allowed yourself to become mine!”

He slammed himself hard inside his beautiful Timothy, teeth sinking onto his delicate neck, feeling the metallic tang of blood and knowing there would be a bruise tomorrow that would shout to the family, to the world at large that he belonged to Damian.

He felt a thrill that had not faded despite the years of them being together.

“Damian, so good!” Tim moaned, his nails digging into Damian’s back, trying to pull him impossibly close, to meld the two of them together. “Too much, too much I-“

Damian didn’t need the words, he didn’t even need to feel the delicious tightening of Timothy’s muscles against him, he just needed to feel Tim’s hands against his hair, fingers trembling and tangling as he pulled his head back for another kiss, another mesh of teeth and tongues and a passion Damian was sure no one else had ever felt.

He closed his eyes, his breath cutting for a moment as he finally allowed himself a roar of completion and he emptied himself inside his beloved.

The two of them fell into an exhausted heap upon the wet blankets, breathing ragged, muscles trembling, Timothy instantly draping himself comfortably over Damian’s massive chest, his ear pressed against his heart with his hand reached to entwine their fingers together.

Damian took a deep breath.

“Happy Anniversary, my beloved,” he whispered, laying a kiss on Tim’s sweaty forehead.

Tim raised his eyes to lock their gazes.

“You didn’t think I’d remember,” he whispered, his breathing ragged, his voice a little hoarse.

“We… celebrate so many landmarks of our lives together and…” Damian chose his words diplomatically, running his fingernails up and down Timothy’s naked back and feeling himself smug when the other man practically melted on top of him. “… and I guess I thought it might have not been as important to you… that night.”

Timothy’s teeth tightened mercilessly around his nipple in retaliation.

“Silly, silly boy,” he whispered, his tongue delivering slow, almost kittenish licks as an apology.

“I know…” Damian chuckled, tightening his arms around his beloved. “Your silly, silly boy.”

“But of course…” Timothy grinned, lips bruised, hair in disarray. The image alone made Damian feel like the warmth of their passion was slowly, but surely returning to their bodies.

He felt himself starting to harden, still inside of Tim.

“Mother?” a voice called from the closed bedroom door. “Mother, have you finished punishing Father according to his crimes?”

Damian groaned at the same time as Tim buried his forehead in his chest to stifle his giggles.

“I’m about to, Bruce!” Timothy called back, the mirth in his voice something sweet, warm.

Something utterly Tim.

“Good!” Bruce responded with his usual haughty ten-year-old voice. “Grayson is eyeing me like he wants to destroy me again! And Todd is a most obtuse buffoon!”

“Ack! B!” Jason’s voice shrieked from what appeared to be the hallways. “Told you not to come up here yet!”

“But I want to sleep with my mother!”

“You can sleep with me!”

“In your dreams, you pervert!”

Damian and Timothy listened in silences as their oldest child bodily dragged their youngest, their argument echoing over the walls of the ancient manor as they walked away.

Damian raised an eyebrow.

Tim grinned wickedly.

They kissed.

 


	10. Encounter

It was not every day that Batman decided to go back on his word and destroy the time-honored tradition of non-involvement they shared for such a long time. And yes, Lex Luthor was not about to mourn the death of their alliance - rather he was looking forward to the reaction his little retribution would earn him.

There was, however, something nagging in the back of his head as he watched Batman and Robin struggle with the trap he had set for  _Superman_  - and Wayne was going to  _pay_ for the interruption with tears and blood.

"Luthor..." Batman hissed with that growly sort of mechanical voice he had perfected over the years as Robin tried to free himself by chewing on his bindings.

"Batman," he greeted back, eyes set on his phone - not an evil high-tech communicator but an actual  _IPhone -_ as he typed away with undisguised glee. "Do tell your little monkey to stay still? I'll have someone pick you up in a few minutes."

Batman blinked in shock.

"You will...?" he asked. 

"Well, yes," Luthor agreed with a raised eyebrow. "I told you already I have no intentions of destroying you yet, Wayne. And I won't unless you are an unfortunately fortunate case of collateral damage."

Batman's eyes widened.

"You know who I am," he said, half cautious, half in awe.

Lex rolled his eyes.

"We grew up together, Wayne, of course I would recognize your ridiculous face under that cowl," he sniffed disdainfully, before turning a small smile on Robin. "He  _is_ rather thick today, isn't he? Don't worry; your mother will be here shortly."

And then it was Robin's time to splutter and cry out as his struggles to free himself grew in intensity.

Lex grinned. 

Finally  _someone_ was taking his threat seriously, he thought just as a long-caped shadow flew over them and the sudden shriek of breaking glass echoed around the room. 

"Luthor!" Batman's voice growled from the shadows, forcing the other man to take a step back. "You ridiculous snake! You  _told on me?_ "

"Wayne?" Lex asked, eyes wide. "How..."

"We had an agreement!" Batman said as he finally came into the light. "And you didn't keep your end! If anything I shoul-"

Batman and Batman - one still tied against a pillar, the other standing under the moonlight - stared at eachother in shock.

Lex was finally able to notice the small differences between both men. The curve of their chins, the scar his customary Batman had at the corner of his lips that was missing from his less articulate twin. 

He should have known.

"Is this some kind of joke?!" Lex's Batman spat, hand teaching towards his neck, only to be stopped by a _second_ Robin's hand on his powerful arm. 

"Father?" he asked. "Mother is about to arrive."

Lex's Batman's lips tightened.

"Explain..." he demanded. "Be quick."

Lex gave him his most sweetly innocent smile.

"I'm as shocked as you are, Wayne," he said with a shrug. "I thought you decided to forgo our agreement and try to stop my attempts to destroy Superman."

Other-Batman's eyes widened, his lips pulled back into a snarl, but before any words of condemnation could leave his mouth there was another soft chuckle from the shadows that made all three men freeze.

"You really made such agreement?" A voice asked from the shadows with clear amusement. "And here I thought Superman was your  _friend._ " 

Lex's Batman scowled.

"The Alien can take care of himself," he said with a shrug. "If Luthor wants to play mad genius with him is nothing to me."

"You are the worst," said the voice with fond amusement as another smaller, slender man finally revealed himself to them. "Good evening, Alexander. What do we have here?" 

Lex laughed.

"Must you still use my full name, dearest?" he asked back, shaking his head. 

"You are conspiring with my husband against a dear friend of mine," the man sighed. "Also, if I called you what I used to, I might find myself in troubles."

Batman growled. 

"Don't you dare, Nemesis."

The new costumed hero simply raised an eyebrow.

“Alexander?” he prompted.

“My mad genius level brain,” Lex said as he rolled his eyes. “Assumes this would happen to be an alternate version of our _dear_ Wayne over here.”

The other hero nodded.

“It would appear so,” he said as he approached the other-Batman, hands outstretched. “Don’t tense like that, we are the good guys.”

“… Most of the times,” Luthor piped in with a small smile full of fondness.

“You deal with Luthor,” Other-Batman said cautiously. “He knows who you all are.”

Lex’s Batman rolled his eyes, arms crossed over is muscled chest.

“Unfortunate consequences of years knowing the bastard,” he muttered, forcing Luthor to snort.

Other-Batman narrowed his eyes.

“Is he a criminal?” he asked the smaller hero, apparently the only one not interested in whatever drama this Batman and this Luthor were involved in. “In this world I mean.”

The smaller man smiled.

“I’m afraid so,” he confirmed. “However he is also a friend of the family and therefore we keep our heroic interaction to a minimum.”

Lex snorted once more, thoroughly enjoying the show.

“You disappoint him, dearest,” he mocked.

The smaller hero sighed, frustrated, before he turned once more to the Other-Batman with a conciliatory smile.

“I guess it must look awful from your point of view, right?” he mused, slowly removing his hood and fingering his mask. “Maybe a show of trust and goodwill would do this meeting some good?”

Lex’s Batman opened his mouth, his shoulders tense and Lex realized, quite too late that Nemesis was actually removing his usual blue mask, his eyes squinting a little against the change in lights before he offered the alternate world traveller a small smile.

“Hello,” he greeted, hand outstretched.

Other-Batman’s eyes were wide, his mouth parting.

“Tim?” he asked in disbelief.

Tim smiled widely.

“So we have met, in your universe I mean,” he said fondly. Other-Batman was about to nod, most likely would whisper an explanation, but the boy tied to his side, Other-Robin, as Lex had dubbed him, spluttered besides him, his own body renewing his struggles as he snarled.

“DRAKE!”

Lex could see how Tim’s eyes widened, how his own body tensed and…

Yeah…

There it was…

Timothy was grinning from ear to ear, clear realization glinting in his eyes.

“Oh, this brings back fond memories,” he said softly, smiling at Lex and his own Batman over his shoulder.

Batman’s own eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open as his whole focus shifted from the alternative version of himself to the small child still struggling for freedom.

Lex laughed outloud.

“I think they are more like flashbacks from that nightmarish time, dear Timothy,” he said, shaking his head. “I still wake to that shriek sometimes, you know?”

“It was adorable and you know it,” Tim tooted, reaching with his hand as fast as lightning to rip the green mask from Other-Robin’s face, making the boy yelp at the sudden sting, his dark blue eyes watering as he continued to glare.

Lex’s Batman’s cheeks flushed.

Luthor’s grin widened.

Nemesis found himself cooing.

“Oh, my god!” he said, eyes bright. “Damian, it’s you!”

Other-Robin snarled, trying to bite the older man’s hand still on his cheek, most likely, but it was Lex’s Batman who, ultimately, replied to such statement.

“Was I ever this small?” he asked, slowly removing his cowl and glaring at the child with identical stormy eyes.

“You were and I loved it,” Tim laughed, standing to give room to the taller hero as he approached the still-bound pair. “I hope Stephanie is taking as many pictures as she can.”

Robin-Damian growled low on his throat, his eyes set on his double’s tall frame and muscled body, the way he easily held himself while wearing the Batman cowl.

“Is this a future version of myself?” he hissed, his cheeks flushed in barely disguised pride.

The older version of him raised an eyebrow.

“I doubt it,” he said simply. “I was never Robin to begin with.”

“I wonder what the others will think when they see this,” Tim said then, his hand sneaking to entwine with his Damian’s. “Jason will most likely have a field day.”

Other-Batman’s eyes widened further.

“Jason is… here?” he asked, hesitant, not wanting to think about the angry, damaged young man back in his own universe.

“You told him to come?!” Damian growled, his cheeks flushing.

Tim nodded.

“In my defense, I didn’t know we were going to find a child-version of yourself, beloved,”  he reasoned. “He insisted he’d come for damage control less you end up sleeping on the couch all over again.”

Damian huffed.

“He better bring reinforces if we are to send my other self and his Batman to their own universe,” he said sharply.

“I’m already working on it, Wayne,” Luthor said as he started typing on his computer. “One of you is more than I can stand.”

“Thank you, Alexander,” Tim said gratefully, his smile small and sweet.

Luthor winked at him.

Damian growled.

“What worries me though,” Tim continued, as if unaware of the quarrel both men held at his side. “Is that, if you are not an alternate version of Damian, and you also know who I am… just who are you, Mr. Other-Batman.”

Other-Batman scowled, his lower lip captured by his teeth.

Tim studied him, eyes focused on his chin, his build, anything that could give him a clue to the identity of this man that so resembled his husband.

Damian rolled his eyes, a little annoyed that his beloved usually never seemed to think to take the easy way to find out the answers to his riddles, reaching to pull the cowl back from the man’s face.

Then felt himself freeze.

Tim gasped, a hand covering his mouth.

“B-Bruce?” he asked, shocked.

“Yes,” Other-Batman said, grimly.

“Yes?” their Robin asked from his distracted position by Lex’s computer. “What is it, Mother?”

Damian and Tim stared at the little boy for a moment, before slowly turning to the man before them.

Bruce – older Bruce, adult Bruce Wayne in the Batman suit – slowly lost all color, his eyes nailed to the child ignoring the whole debacle.

“You mean to tell me…” he hesitated.

“It seems so,” Tim nodded, kneeling before the hero and slowly untying him and his Robin. “Now this is an awkward revelation.”

“I…” Older-Bruce hesitated, standing.

“Were you adopted by Thomas and Martha then?” Tim asked, open curiosity in his face.

Bruce blinked.

“I… no,” he said, still unsure. “I am their biological child.”

“Just like me!” Ten year old Bruce beamed, wrapping his arms around Tim’s waist. “You were right Mother! I _do_ look like Father!”

Damian rolled his eyes, a hand fond on his son’s hair.

Ten year old Damian spluttered, his eyes wide, his knees weak.

Other-Bruce raised an eyebrow at Tim.

Tim smiled.

“Ra’s decided to clone Damian and I,” he said with a shrug. “I take it it’s not something that _would_ happen in your universe?”

“It is… actually,” the older man huffed, shaking his head, eyes pointedly avoiding the intimate way in which the older Damian’s fingers gently caressed Tim’s.

Damian raised an eyebrow at him while Tim nudged him in the stomach, his smile the usual picture of fond exasperation he usually wore around Dick and the others in Bruce’s universe.

“Timothy, dearest, would you give me a hand with this? I think I have the correct equation but I feel I’m missing something!” Lex called over his shoulders, his fingers flying over his keyboard.

“Duty calls,” he said, removing his hand from his husband’s and trying to walk away with his son still wrapped around him. “We’ll get you home in no time, Bruce, baby Damian.”

“Don’t call me that!” the other-Robin growled.

“Don’t call him that!” Damian protested, his cheeks red.

Tim laughed, laying a small kiss on his husband’s cheek.

“I can’t help it,” he defended himself. “You are just so cute!”

Robin-Damian spluttered in outrage.

Damian, older, wiser, far more mature than his ten year old self, felt himself grin as he wrapped an arm around his husband’s back and instantly pulled him to his chest, leaning down to deepen his tongue into Timothy’s mouth in a kiss that made him wish for the privacy of their bedroom and feel a small thrill run down his spine when Tim’s hands instantly buried themselves in his hair.

“Go,” he whispered as they finally separated, his smile positively gleeful despite his beloved’s exasperated, yet loving punch to his shoulder.

“You brat,” Tim hissed, shaking his head and slowly walking towards a laughing Lex and whacking him in the back of the head with enough strength to make the man falter a little. “And you, stop making fun of my _husband_ or I’ll have to beat you up, Alexander.”

The other man ran a hand through his head, his scowl childish.

“You never let me have any fun, Timothy,” he complained.

Damian smirked in superiority as he watched them work, losing their prodigious brains to the numbers and the science.

The older Bruce coughed by his side, also eyeing the two with open curiosity – or as open as Damian could detect, but then again, he was raising this man from infancy, for all he knew the man was masking his emotions flawlessly to the untrained eye – before turning back to him.

“Are Tim and Luthor… close?” he asked, trying not to look as worried as his voice conveyed, and Damian had to guess the Lex Luthor in their universe was actually a pretty bad man, then, if the disbelief in their faces was anything to go with.

He found himself shrugging.

“They used to date, back when we were all in school,” he said simply, not wanting to go into details of that time in his life when he felt himself inadequate and young. “I, of course, rectified the situation as soon as I hit puberty, as you can imagine.”

Bruce and his other self couldn’t imagine, then, considering the twin expressions of confusion on their faces.

“In retaliation,” he continued, shrugging his shoulders. “Luthor likes to flirt with Timothy to make me jealous.”

“And you tolerate this?” Bruce asked, eyes wide. Ah, of course an alternate version of his son would be as protective of his mother as his original.

He nodded, his smile small, fond.

“He’s usually a normal man with a strange obsession with the Alien,” he said, shaking his head. “My guess is he’ll stop with his mad experiments when those two fall in bed together.”

Bruce stared at him, eyes wide.

“I can’t believe you allow this travesty of a relationship with _Drake_ of all people,” his other self, his younger self, scoffed, arms crossed over his small chest, his nose upturned in distaste.

Damian found himself scowling once more.

“If I was ever half as an obnoxious brat as you are now, kid, I’m surprised he even considered sharing his life with me,” he hissed, his own arms coming to cross over his chest in imitation. “A part of me wants to break your face for bad-mouthing Timothy like you are doing, but I also have the feeling you will regret your words in a few years when you hit puberty and realize what you could have and never will, so yeah, I don’t give a fuck.”

His other-self bristled in outrage.

Other-Bruce’s eyes widened, his own shoulders tensing.

He raised a hand to stall them both.

“I don’t actually care about the differences between your world and mine,” he said dismissively. “Timothy is the best thing to ever happen to me, he saved my life, my sanity and my family. He loves me and accepts me without question or prejudice. And that’s the end of it.”

His other-self squawked, his face an unattractive shade of red that might convince others of his rage, but Damian knew himself far too well and if he remembered correctly, it meant the boy was actually jealous, not disgusted.

He smirked.

So there was something there, huh?

Other-Bruce, on the other hand, looked at him in awe and a sort of hidden warmth he remembered from Thomas’ eyes, the sort of pride of a father.

He felt himself flush.

“So, you are happy,” Bruce asked, his lips twitching. “And Jason? Dick?”

Damian nodded.

“We are. Jason is a good older brother to his siblings, despite everything I would have to say the little street rat turned out quite alright. Dick…” he hesitated, not sure he wanted to share such a personal information with this man who seemed to be his father in another dimension. “Richard has good days and bad days, therapy and medication can only do so much for a mind touched by the Lazarus.”

Bruce’s eyes widened for a second before understanding filled them, had they faced the same situation in their own universe, Damian wondered, not wanting to really know.

“You make him go to therapy and take medication then,” the other man mussed, equally uncomfortable.

“We gave him no other choice, to be honest,” Damian admitted. “Dr. Crane is optimistic.”

There was definitely something off about Dr. Crane if the way other-Bruce and other-Damian’s faces twisted in shock, but Damian had already determined he was not going to ask. He trusted his son’s therapist and he would do so better without knowing whatever had happened to them man in that alternative universe of theirs.

He opened his mouth to tell the older man so and maybe also advice his younger, alternate self over the choices in his life – to be honest, he couldn’t fathom a world in which his happiness was not completely entwined with Timothy’s, and yeah, maybe this kid was an annoying little brat, but he had time to improve – but in a second a flash of lightning pierced the sky, the roar of thunder deafening as he covered his eyes, he heard Timothy’s voice cry out his name, he felt Luthor’s hands pulling him backwards.

And then there was silence.

His alternate self and the other, older Bruce Wayne had disappeared.

Bruce, likewise, opened his eyes to find himself back in the batcave, Damian’s small hand holding his arm in fright.

“Are you two okay?” Dick asked as he approached them, eyes frantic, mouth pursed with worry.

Bruce stared at his oldest son, his brilliant circus boy and imagined him bitter and broken, dependent of therapy and medication, he felt an almost irresistible need to embrace him.

Damian, his child, his baby boy, dusted his clothes, his nose wrinkled in embarrassment.  

“We are,” Bruce assured, straightening. “Did you…”

Dick nodded, his smile as bright as the sun.

“Tim and Babs managed to come up with some equation, they’ve been working on it since you two disappeared!” he explained. “We were so worried.”

Bruce felt himself smile as he watched his oldest beam with pride and suddenly noticed the faint smell of tobacco in the air and a fond warmth filled his chest. Jason had been there as well.

“Where did you two go anyways?” Tim asked as he peeked his head from behind the computer, his young face eager, reading glasses perched on his nose.

Bruce felt Damian tense by his side, his face flush in absolute mortification before the boy huffed like a cat and rushed towards the showers to change.

He felt himself snort.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he told his other children, shaking his head. 


End file.
